


In Which Moral Bankruptcy is Catching

by leashy_bebes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:57:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leashy_bebes/pseuds/leashy_bebes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "Gwaine and Merlin are best friends. They've been playing a constant game of Truth and Dare for three terms now. So when Gwaine finds out that Merlin has a crush on Arthur it's only natural that he dares Merlin to wank in Arthur's bed. It's inevitable really that Arthur is going to walk in on him (or them - it's your choice)" at the <a href="http://eloquent-toast.livejournal.com/200093.html">Merlin Wankfest</a>. Tagged for underage just to be on the very very safe side as they're still at school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Moral Bankruptcy is Catching

"In his _bed_?" Merlin yelps, and half of the refectory turns to look.

Gwaine, being Gwaine, creases up with laughter. Merlin turns bright red. (It happens in that order a _lot_.)

Merlin lowers his voice and demands, "Are you _mad_?"

"You're blushing," Gwaine points out unnecessarily.

"No, really?" Merlin suddenly feels like this term-long game of dares is petty and beneath him and really not at all the kind of thing he wants to waste his time with.

Gwaine kicks him under the table and mutters, "You're not fooling me. I can _see_ you thinking about it right now."

"I am not."

"You are. You're thinking about cracking one off while surrounded by his manly musk, or whatever it is that floats your boat."

Merlin lets his forehead fall to the table. "Oh my _God_."

He's right though, the bastard. Because while his first reaction is 'oh, no, what' and his second is 'why is this person my best friend?', his third is well and truly, 'oh God, yes please, Arthur's bed'.

"Out of the question," he says. "He'll catch me and then he'll set the rugby team on me – in the _least_ pleasant way possible, before you say anything, thanks – and they will _kill_ me and hang me from the flagpole, and giving a two fingered salute to the rotting corpse of the last person stupid enough to cross Arthur will become a new school tradition."

Gwaine's eyebrows crawl higher and higher as Merlin speaks, and he eventually offers, "You're a bit weird, you know that?"

" _I'm_ the weird one? What I just said was completely plausible and anyway, I'm not the one encouraging my friend to commit sexual assault."

"Merlin. A sly wank in someone else's bed is not sexual assault."

"It's... It feels like it might be," Merlin says honestly.

"It's really not."

"And anyway, we don't have a key."

Because Arthur's a prefect – of course – and sleeps in a separate room away from the dormitory.

Gwaine looks crestfallen. "Oh. Damn it."

"Think of something else," Merlin says, trying not to sound to relieved.

"Mmm, yeah," Gwaine says, and he rapidly finishes off his lunch. "See you in a bit."

This is clearly not going to end well.

  


***

  
Two hours later Merlin's in the study he shares with Gwaine, half dreading the new dare, half-hoping for it, just so Gwaine will shut up about Arthur for the space of two minutes. He should have known something like this would happen when Gwaine had wheedled it out of him one night with the judicious application of shots of cheap vodka. And by 'it' Merlin means the fact that he has an almighty, ridiculous, god-look-at-his-hair, how-is-he-so-perfect, no-but-really-have-you-ever-seen-eyes-that-blue, full-blown _crush_ on Arthur Pendragon.

 _This too shall pass_ , Merlin thinks to himself wryly. If he ever actually does write that Gwaine Instruction Manual for any potential future friends the boy picks up, that will be the guiding principle. Gwaine gets these ideas, and he's determined as anything, but he's easily distracted if you just give him time to catch sight of a pretty girl, or a drink he hasn't tried before, or a 'do not enter' sign.

Speak of the devil, Gwaine bursts in as Merlin's squinting at his Chemistry notes to see if they make more sense that way. Without so much as a hello, Gwaine slaps a hand down on Merlin's desk and demands, "Guess what I've got?"

"Oh, Jesus."

"Right in one," Gwaine says, lifting his hand to reveal a key. "Come on then," he says. "No time like the present."

Merlin just stares at the little bronze bit of metal that he's sure is going to lead eventually to his complete and utter humiliation. And not just 'I fell down the stairs on the first day of school' humiliation. Not even 'Gwaine got his hands on a uniform from the girls' school down the road and dared me to wear it to assembly' humiliation. This will require an entirely new system of categorising the endless string of personal calamities that make up his life.

"I hate you," Merlin says miserably, looking at the key. Gwaine nudges it a bit closer to him. " _Hate_."

"The manly musk, though," Gwaine protests.

Irritably, Merlin snatches up the key. "Stop talking about musk."

"Well?" Gwaine says, nodding towards the door.

"Now?" Merlin asks, dismayed. "Seriously?"

Gwaine shrugs. "Good a time as any. Rugby team practice until five on a Tuesday, don't they?"

Merlin tightens his grip on the key until he can feel it digging into his palm. "Oh my God," he groans. "Oh my God, think of something else."

Gwaine nudges him. "Wuss. Alright, fine. I dare you to tell him, in front of at least three witnesses, that you want to fuck him."

"What? No, that's not – "

Gwaine smiles like he thinks he's really fucking clever. "You get one alternate dare only," he says cheerfully. "You know the rules."

"Hate you," Merlin says again. "So much it hurts."

  


***

  
Arthur's study is much neater than theirs. Books are arranged tidily on the shelves instead of stacked haphazardly on the floor. The desk is loaded with colour coded folders and notepads instead of CD cases, empty mugs, sweet wrappers and – if Merlin doesn't get to it in time – porn, that adorns theirs. There are several framed pictures on one of the shelves, and if Gwaine wasn't with him Merlin would probably give into the worryingly large portion of this crush that's about sighing and smiling into thin air (as opposed to normal, healthy things like _sex_ ) and see if he can find any of Arthur as a kid.

As it is, Merlin just finds himself wincing when Gwaine throws himself down into an armchair and props his feet on the coffee table, waving a hand towards the door that can only lead to – oh fuck Merlin, what are you _doing_? – the bedroom. Arthur's bedroom.

"Are you – are you _staying_?" Merlin demands.

"No," Gwaine says. "I thought I'd wait outside while you sit on his bed for ten minutes kicking your heels. Also, if anyone does come in, I'll be able to come up with a flawless excuse while you climb out the window or something."

"We're on the fourth floor."

"Or something."

Merlin scrubs both hands over his face. "Please don't listen to me wank?"

Gwaine shrugs expansively. "I won't listen, but I might hear."

"Thank you," Merlin mutters as he crosses to the bedroom door. "That's a really helpful distinction."

He shuts the door on Gwaine's reply and looks around. The bedroom is not as tidy as the study, which is something of a relief. The unmade bed and the stray socks, the spare tie already knotted and hanging from the wardrobe door, all make Arthur seem more real somehow which, okay, on the one hand is terrifying. But on the other it's kind of nice.

"Okay," Merlin says to himself. "Alright. Oh _fuck_."

His legs feel a bit weak as he crosses to the bed. He's already decided there's no way he's getting _in_ the bed. He'll sit on the edge of the mattress, whip out his dirtiest fantasies about Arthur and get the job done as soon as possible. And then later, when he's got some time alone he'll have a much more leisurely go at it remembering how, oh yeah, I totally got off in Arthur Pendragon's bedroom.

God. Gwaine's moral bankruptcy is catching, clearly.

Merlin undoes his trousers and pushes them down just enough to fumble his cock out through the slit in his boxers and then he sits down before he falls. He curls the fingers of his free hand into Arthur's mattress and – oh fuck. The mattress where Arthur no doubt brings himself off. Or maybe he sneaks in a girl, or a boy – please, please let it be a boy, and if it can't be Merlin then please let it be Lance from the football team – and they roll around on this mattress right here, up to all manner of filthy behaviour.

It takes a pitifully short time for him to get completely hard, arousal hitting like a truck – because it's Arthur's bedroom, Arthur's bedroom, oh my God, Arthur's _bedroom_. He strokes himself slowly at first, warming up. Then he licks his hand as messily as he can and goes faster, the usual reel of inspired-by-porn-and-adapted-to-Arthur images flickering through his mind.

He sneaks a glance to one side and there's... Arthur's pillow. Askew at the head of the bed, and it's _calling_ to him. Telling himself no one will know, Merlin snatches it up and presses it to his face, breathing deep. And, okay, this very, very definitely counts as weird and possibly illegal behaviour but God, the pillow smells like Arthur (and Merlin is _not_ thinking about _oh Jesus, why do I know what he smells like, I have spoken to him exactly seven times in my life, why, why, why am I such a freak_?) and okay, yeah, Merlin could definitely get into this.

Merlin draws off a little, teases the head of his cock with his finger and thumb. It's wet and he moans into the pillow, past caring that Gwaine is probably pissing himself laughing. He goes back to stroking all of his cock that he can get at, urgent now, hips shifting, and then -

Oh, Jesus. Jesus in a fucking trilby hat, the outside door opens. Merlin freezes for a second and then he hears Arthur demanding, "What are _you_ doing in here?"

Oh fuck. Oh God. Fucking fucksticks and arse and bollocks, and oh, he never even got to say goodbye to his _mum_ , this is tragic. Without thinking, Merlin slides off the bed and rolls underneath it, his heart still pounding, his treacherous cock, apparently unaware of the gravity of the situation, still achingly hard.

"I am – uh – stealing your trophies," Gwaine says, overly loud, as though Merlin might not have noticed what's going on by now.

Merlin stares up at the bottom of the bed, and frantically tries to tuck himself back in. (Oh God, he's hiding semi-naked under a _bed_. It's like something from a terrible sitcom.) "Yeah," Gwaine goes on, obviously warming to his theme. "It was uh – a prank, you know? Steal your trophies, take photos of them in interesting places, put ransom notes up around the school. But you caught me. Too bad. Prank averted."

It's...actually kind of plausible, Merlin thinks. He adjusts the hang of the sheets so they reach to the floor and tries to breath. Okay. Okay. The bed has that odd drapey material all the way around the bottom of it. It surely only exists so people can shove things under their bed out of sight, but thankfully Arthur's isn't _too_ horrendous. There's a few pens, scraps of paper, a couple of pairs of shoes. Merlin focuses on breathing and tries to believe he'll get out of this intact.

"Did you steal my keys?" he hears Arthur ask sharply.

"Nope. Door was open," Gwaine lies, and Merlin sort of hopes Arthur drags the pillock straight to the form-master for detention so that he can crawl out from under the bed and find a nice quiet corner where he intends to die of embarrassment just as soon as humanly possible.

"Just – you're lucky I'm in a rush. Fuck off, yeah?"

 _In. A. Rush._

Surely the three most beautiful words in the English language?

There's the slam of the outer door closing, presumably behind Gwaine, and then Merlin hears Arthur moving around in the study. Merlin crosses his fingers and closes his eyes, turns his head a little to hear Arthur's footsteps better. Maybe he'll just go to the shelf, grab a book and leave again. Maybe he'll – and then his thoughts disappear because he opens his eyes and finds himself looking right at a magazine. Very clearly a porn magazine. Maybe even more clearly a _gay_ porn magazine. Not a single breast to be seen. And oh. Okay. Well. Wow.

Merlin's still trying to process that particular revelation (most exciting news in the world, holy shit, Arthur has honest-to-God _gay porn_ under his bed) when the bedroom door opens and he comes back to earth with a bump. Because oh, that's right, he's going to die. He might die knowing Arthur is gay (or at least, gay enough to look at gay porn), but he'll still be dead. Merlin hears twin thumps as Arthur kicks of his shoes and he gets this horrible feeling about what Arthur really meant by _in a rush_.

Sure enough Arthur's weight drops onto the bed and Merlin hastily edges away from the magazine. _Oh, God._ This is fucking ridiculous. This sort of thing just _does not happen_ to normal people. There's a shifting of material, and the mattress moves and resettles. _That's him pushing his trousers down over his hips_ , Merlin thinks, absurdly calm. Then Merlin's heart nearly pounds out of his chest when Arthur's hand appears, groping around, swiping up the magazine before retreating. Then there's the rattle of a drawer and a wet sound. Oh. Gay porn under the bed, lube in the bedside cabinet. Basically, he's the perfect man.

There's a brief rustle of paper and then the wet noise returns, intensified and rhythmic. Oh God. Oh fuck. _This_ , Merlin thinks a bit wildly. This is the problem with boarding schools, Merlin decides. It's a hotbed of sexual frustration, so bad that you can't even get away with innocently wanking in someone else's bed for your own perverse gratification without ending up listening to _them_ tugging themselves off.

Merlin decides to take a quick inventory of the situation. He is lying underneath Arthur Pendragon's bed (like a creepy pervert) listening to him wank (to _gay porn_ , apparently, can't forget that), unable to even get his trousers done up properly because he's so hard it'll take some effort as it is, and anyway he's so _fucking_ turned on he's bound to moan, or whine, or something. And of course, his incompletely-trousered state means that if he does get caught, he's basically _dead_.

He's forced to wonder how these things happen, and more importantly, why they always happen to him. He concludes that what he really needs is to reassess his entire life. To take a long, hard look at himself and his priorities. Mostly, he decides he needs to not play dares with Gwaine ever, ever again.

" _Ahhhh_." Arthur moans and Merlin bites his lip. Oh God. Of course Arthur has no need to keep quiet, not with a room to himself. Merlin's so used to secrecy that every noise sounds filthy. He turns his head enough to peek out from under the bed. There's only a tiny sliver of the room visible but it's enough to see that the shoes Arthur kicked off when he came in are a pair of muddied rugby boots. Which means he's probably just come from practice. Which means he's probably sweaty and dishevelled, his hair in disarray, his face flushed, wearing those shorts that make rugby practice Merlin's favourite part of the day even though he _hates_ sports.

"Nng, _fuck_ ," Arthur grits out, the bed shifting. Merlin imagines him fucking up into his hand, blond head thrown back into the pillow Merlin had been breathing all over. Arthur has great, strong looking hands, and Merlin wonders what they look like wrapped around his cock, wants to see the colour of it, whether it curves or not, where Arthur touches to get the best sensation. Without thinking, Merlin presses his palm flat to the front of his trousers, warm against his mostly covered cock. He reaches up stealthily to put his other hand over his mouth, breathing carefully as he grinds into his hand.

"Oh God," Arthur breathes. "Fuck – _ah_ – "

Maybe that's it, Merlin dares to think. Maybe it'll be a quick clean up and a quick departure. Maybe –

"Fu-uck," Arthur groans. "Fuck me, oh, _fuck_."

 _Fuck me. Fuck. Me._

Merlin bites down _hard_ on his knuckles and shudders, hips kicking up against the pressure of his other hand and _oh Jesus_. Fuck. He's coming, actually _coming_ , barely inches away from Arthur, and he can hear Arthur doing the same, grunting out his pleasure. After a long moment, with come cooling in his boxers, Merlin hears soft noises, tissues maybe, Arthur cleaning his hands? Then he heaves a contented sigh and Merlin thinks _please, please don't go to sleep._

Apparently, for the first time all day, Merlin's luck is in. After a few terrifying minutes Arthur sighs again and the bed shifts as he sits up. There's another tell-tale rustle of material and a rugby shirt lands on the sliver of floor Merlin can see beyond the bed. The drawer rattles again, and then Arthur's up, crossing to the wardrobe. Merlin's desperate to peek, to see the gorgeous naked body that goes with the sounds he heard (and incidentally is storing up for the next thousand years of wank material) but he's got more self preservation than that. At little bit, at least. So he just stays still, trying not to breathe, trying not to think about everything that has just happened.

The bedroom door closes a couple of minutes later, and Merlin promptly rearranges his clammy underwear and trousers (yuck, ew, damn it). The study door opens and closes not long after that and Merlin heaves a sigh of relief. He means to count to a minute, but he gets as far as forty seven seconds before his nerve gives. He scrambles out from under the bed and scarpers.

  


***

  
He finds Gwaine loitering around the next corner. He takes one look at Merlin, who's pulled his shirt down over the front of his trousers in a futile attempt at modesty and laughs uproariously. Merlin gives him the finger and stalks past him feeling sticky and uncomfortable. He knows his clothes look a right state, and he'd be willing to bet he's got a gormless expression on his face. Because of... Well. What with the wanking, and the nearly-getting-caught, and the _gay porn_ , and the coming in his pants, he's trying to process quite a lot of information at once.

Gwaine grabs his elbow. "Hey. Did he catch you?"

"Still breathing, aren't I?"

Gwaine gives him an assessing glance up and down. "You _look_ like he caught you."

"Please stop talking," Merlin says, but he can feel his lip twitching with mirth. It's kind of impossible to stay angry at Gwaine.

"Actually you look like he caught you, had his wicked way with you, and chucked you out," Gwaine elaborates unnecessarily.

"Oh my God. He didn't catch me, okay? I hid under the bed."

Gwaine's instantly lost in peals of laughter, collapsing against the wall. "You – under – _bed_ – "

"I'm going to kill you," Merlin calls over his shoulder as he carries on walking. If he thinks _that's_ funny, Gwaine can clearly _never_ know the full facts of this matter.

"Under the _bed_!" Gwain wheezes. "With your keks around your ankles, oh my _God_."

"Sleep with one eye open, you dick!" Merlin yells as he ducks down the nearest stairway and leaves Gwaine to choke on his own good cheer.

Merlin has a lot to think about.


End file.
